Chương 17: Apparently, Indiana Has Murder Factories

Morning sunlight filtered through the small window of Matt's trailer at site C-87. Matt sat at the fold-down table with a mug of coffee in one hand and a completely white pair of Boots beside his laptop. Perfect Temperature had already done its job. So had the daily reset. Vital Imprint and Elemental Ward were both back to ten uses. Matt looked at the Boots. WINDRUNNER BOOTS Rarity: Normal Required Level: 9 Implicit: +8% Movement Speed He had gone to sleep thinking about shoes. That was concerning.

His current Boots were excellent defensively: fifty-three Maximum Life between the Base Implicit and crafted modifier, plus eight percent Lightning Resistance. The Windrunners offered something else. Speed. Constant speed. And now that Matt was Level Nine, the Requirement warning was gone. He could finally use them. Matt swapped his combat copies out for Vital Imprint and Elemental Ward, selected common Currency from the container labeled SAFE TO EXPERIMENT, and started with Life.

The Currency dissolved across the clean Base. Maximum Life +29 Matt smiled.

"Good." He used Elemental Ward next, choosing Lightning to keep the new Boots reasonably close to the Resistance distribution of his old pair. The final item settled. RARE WINDRUNNER BOOTS Required Level: 9 Implicit: Movement Speed +8% Maximum Life +29 Lightning Resistance +9% Matt leaned back.

"… Now we're talking." Spreadsheet. Obviously. BOOT COMPARISON CURRENT BOOTS Maximum Life: +53 total Lightning Resistance: +8% WINDRUNNER BOOTS Maximum Life: +29 Lightning Resistance: +9% Movement Speed: +8% The trade was straightforward. Twenty-four Maximum Life in exchange for eight percent Movement Speed and one mostly irrelevant extra point of Lightning Resistance. A week ago, giving up twenty-four Life would have sounded terrible. Now Matt's entire equipment setup leaned heavily toward survival.

He had a much larger Life pool, strong level-appropriate physical mitigation, meaningful Evasion, nearly fifty percent Resistance across Fire, Cold, and Lightning, and Master of the Arena restoring one percent of Maximum Life every second. Twenty-four Life still mattered. It just wasn't the difference between safe and fragile anymore. Matt looked at the old Boots. Then at the Windrunners.

"I'm keeping both." An unknown Dungeon meant unknown monsters and unknown mechanics. A spare pair of Boots barely occupied any room in his equipment bag, and there was no prize for pretending one loadout solved every problem. Options. Matt packed the old pair carefully, put on the Windrunners, and stood. He walked across the trailer.

"…Nothing." Outside, he crossed the gravel toward the Camp Office. Still nothing dramatic. No cinematic blur. No sudden rocket propulsion. Then Matt jogged. After several strides, he slowed.

"…Oh." There it was. He was simply faster. Every stride covered slightly more ground, and familiar distances closed sooner than his brain expected. Eight percent. Always active. No Mana. No Skill Gem Slot. No COPY slot. He simply moved faster whenever his feet were involved.

"This is annoyingly good." Bastion had been right. Again. Matt was developing complicated feelings about internet educators. ◆ Back inside the trailer, Matt looked at COPY. Nine Life guarantees remained. Nine Resistance guarantees. Yesterday he had established a priority: Personal Gear first. The Windrunners were done. Which left eighteen professional miracles with no immediate personal job. Matt opened the local equipment market.

"I am not starting a business." The local listings loaded. Ashfield had plenty of cheap clean beginner Bases available for pickup. Matt deliberately ignored anything with a premium Implicit or unusually attractive Base properties and bought nine ordinary pieces priced like raw material rather than finished Gear. Then he purchased enough common compatible Currency for the batch. Actual money out. Actual input cost.

Much better data than pretending another Boss had conveniently vomited an infinite warehouse onto his floor. Matt collected the materials from the Camp market and brought them back to the trailer. Nine clean Bases lined up on the table. He raised one finger.

"Nine items." A pause.

"That's not a business." Matt considered it.

"… That might actually be production." Unfortunate. He started Crafting. By now the process no longer needed ceremony. Prepare the Base. Use Vital Imprint for Maximum Life. Use Elemental Ward for an appropriate Resistance. Record the actual roll and move on. Some results were mediocre. Some were good. One Resistance roll annoyed him. Another came out near the top of the bracket. That was the entire point. Matt controlled the modifier family. Not the exact number.

By the time he finished his second coffee and a protein bar, nine beginner Rare items were ready for market. Both Crafting Skills had reached zero daily uses. Matt looked at the finished batch.

"Factory closed." He checked the economics before listing anything. Base purchase price. Currency cost. Marketplace fee. Recent comparable sales. Assuming the batch performed near current averages, the value added was substantial. Several thousand dollars. Potentially around four. Matt stared at the estimate.

"Today's breakfast should pay for Indiana." That sentence still felt unhealthy. He created the listings as drafts. Then packed all nine finished pieces into the truck. Because Marketplace did not teleport physical equipment through the internet. That part had initially seemed so obvious to Matt that he hadn't thought much about it. Every established Delver Camp had a Marketplace Dispatch Counter.

Sellers could create listings from anywhere, but physical Gear had to be checked into an approved Marketplace node before the listing went live. The staff verified the Item ID, condition, modifiers, and ownership, sealed the equipment into insured consignment, and stored it locally until sale. After that, the Marketplace handled the ugly part. Routing. Packaging standards. Buyer protection. Insured courier service between Camps and regional hubs. Final-mile delivery.

The seller paid for all of it through Marketplace fees. Matt loved it. Not enough to work there. But professionally. He had used the same system for yesterday's four-item test batch. Creating the listing on his laptop had only prepared the sale; the items had gone live after he dropped them at Ashfield's counter. Today, the clerk scanned each of the nine pieces and loaded them into separate padded shipping trays.

"Relocating?" she asked.

"Indiana."

"No problem. Anything unsold can stay in consignment here. If you want it transferred to another Marketplace hub later, there's a handling fee." Matt nodded.

"Makes sense." The final item scanned green. 9 LISTINGS ACTIVE The physical Gear disappeared into the secure back room. Matt looked at the counter. Then toward the road. His products could stay in Ohio while he went to Indiana. If one sold while he was driving, the item was already in the logistics network. There would be no magical inventory transfer. Just warehouses and trucks. Somehow that made the entire Dungeon economy feel more real. And more American.

◆ The National Dungeon Map was already open when Matt returned to the trailer. He had narrowed the choices the previous night using the criteria that apparently mattered now: useful Level range, trailer access, good Camp reviews, a strong market, Crafter services, and—importantly—no Chaos-heavy nonsense. One location had survived every filter. IRONVALE WORKS Location: Indiana Rank: F Recommended Level: 8–12 Theme: Industrial / Construct Camp Rating: 4.

6 / 5 Trailer Hookups: Full The Dungeon itself sounded interesting. That wasn't what had sealed the decision. Matt scrolled lower. CRAFTER COOPERATIVE SERVICES Weapon Damage Armor Attack Speed Attributes Utility His eyes stopped on one line. Attack Speed Bastion had specifically identified Attack Speed as desirable on Gloves. Matt's current Gloves were defensively excellent. They did not make him attack faster. Weapon Damage sat on the same list. Interesting. Not enough information yet. But interesting.

Matt opened a @CampToCamp review. The drone shot showed a sprawling complex built into the remains of an old industrial site. Ashfield had looked like an RV campground built beside a magical portal. Ironvale looked like somebody had welded a campground onto a freight terminal. Huge paved lots. Rows of trailers. Converted warehouses. Heavy-duty pickups. Work vans. Metal-sided equipment shops. The reviewer walked past the hookup sites.

"Power is excellent. Water pressure is reliable. Central showers were renovated last year." Matt nodded. Useful.

"The laundry building has twenty-four commercial machines."

"…Sold."

"Market volume is unusually strong for a beginner Dungeon, especially for metal Bases, weapon equipment, and Construct materials." Also useful. Then:"Downsides. The Dungeon ambience is loud." Matt stared.

"That is a strange sentence."

"Occasional metallic smell depending on wind direction. And do not book the east maintenance row unless you enjoy truck backup alarms beginning at six in the morning." Matt closed the video.

"Still better than Chaos." He looked one last time at Ashfield. Recommended Level Four through Ten. Matt was Nine. There was absolutely nothing wrong with staying. Another day could mean predictable XP, another Orchard Keeper run, more local materials, another chance at valuable Bases, and maybe Level Ten. You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. All useful. None unique.

Ironvale offered a fresh Level range, a new monster family, a different loot pool, a metal-heavy market, and Crafters whose specializations Matt had not yet observed. Matt looked out the window at Ashfield's familiar Camp road.

"I could stay." He thought about it. Then shrugged.

"Indiana sounds more interesting." That was enough. Level Ten was not a graduation certificate. The System wasn't going to produce a window reading: CONGRATULATIONS. YOU MAY NOW LEAVE OHIO. Matt had bought the truck and trailer because he wanted to travel between Dungeons. Safe and efficient did not have to mean permanent. He closed the Ashfield page.

"Okay." Time to move. ◆ Packing took considerably longer than deciding to leave. Interior first. Matt secured the laptop, kitchen items, Crafting Currency, remaining Bases, Flasks, and weapons. Nothing likely to become airborne under hard braking remained loose. Then outside. Water disconnected. Sewer flushed and capped. Power cable coiled. Stabilizers retracted. Wheel chocks last. Matt backed the heavy pickup toward the trailer hitch. Slightly wrong. Forward. Adjust. Reverse again. Closer. One more correction.

Third attempt.

"Good enough." He was improving. Slowly. Hitch locked. Safety chains. Breakaway cable. Electrical connection. Lights. Matt walked around the entire rig twice, checking tires, storage doors, awning, hitch, and connections.

"This part I understand." No Affix tables. No mysterious Skill interactions. No metaphysical alteration of reality. Just a physical system and a checklist. Comforting. Matt climbed into the truck and eased forward. The trailer followed. Site C-87 disappeared behind him. He drove slowly past the Camp Office and market. Ashfield's Gate shrank in the rearview mirror. Matt had arrived unable to hit the local birds efficiently.

He was leaving with four combat Skills, customized Gear, two Crafting specializations, and strong opinions about white Boots.

"Not bad for Ohio." He remembered Ethan's beach photographs. A pause.

"Still hate Ohio." Matt merged onto the highway. West. ◆ The drive to Indiana took most of the day. Ashfield sat in eastern Ohio, and towing a twenty-foot trailer across most of the state was not something Matt intended to rush. The landscape flattened gradually as he moved west through suburbs, fields, warehouses, highway interchanges, and long stretches of ordinary America interrupted by evidence that Dungeons had existed for fifteen years.

A roadside sign advertised: MANA STONE REFINING — NEXT EXIT A truck stop offered: DELVER RV PARKING — 12 OVERSIZE SPACES One flatbed carried an enormous Dungeon-grown bone structure beneath a tarp. Another truck bore the logo of the same Marketplace logistics network Matt had used that morning. Its trailer carried sealed insured containers marked for regional Delver hubs. Matt watched it pass. Somewhere inside might be somebody's perfect white Base. Or somebody's terrible Rare sword. Probably both.

Towing changed everything. Acceleration was slower, braking distances longer, lane changes more deliberate, and fuel consumption significantly worse. Even choosing a gas station required checking whether the rig could get in and out without becoming an internet video. That was fine. Matt had nowhere he needed to be at a particular hour. No manager. No shift. No delivery deadline. He stopped west of Columbus for fuel and lunch. The station had pull-through RV lanes. Good. Matt filled the truck. The total climbed.

And climbed. He stared.

"Still cheaper than therapy." Probably. Inside, he bought a sandwich, water, and coffee he absolutely did not need. When he returned to the truck, his phone had several Marketplace notifications waiting. ITEM SOLD ITEM SOLD Two of the morning's crafted pieces. The equipment itself was still back in Ohio—or already being routed out of it—inside the Marketplace logistics network. The sale settlement simply arrived on Matt's phone. He smiled.

"… Nice." Enough to cover the day's fuel several times over. That was the strange psychological change. When Matt had first bought the truck and trailer, every gas stop represented money leaving the hundred-thousand-dollar severance that made this experiment possible. Now money was also flowing the other direction. Not infinitely. Not without materials. Not without market demand.

But reliably enough that Camp fees, fuel, food, and ordinary road expenses were beginning to feel like operating costs rather than threats.

"My commute pays better now that I don't have a job." Matt paused.

"That might be the most depressing thing I've said this week." He finished lunch. Then got back on the road. ◆ Ironvale's beginner guide played through the truck speakers.

"Welcome to Ironvale Works. Ironvale is an industrial-themed F-rank Dungeon recommended primarily for Delvers between Levels Eight and Twelve." Good.

"Primary enemy family: Constructs. Primary incoming damage: Physical, with limited Lightning threats in several subzones." Also good. His balanced Resistances wouldn't be wasted. Then the narrator changed subjects.

"Important note for Delvers arriving from biological beginner Dungeons: Construct enemies in Ironvale tend to possess substantially higher physical durability than common wildlife and plant-type enemies found in comparable F-rank environments." There it was.

"Do not interpret slower kill times as an immediate sign that your build has failed. However, Ironvale is also a common point at which neglected offensive equipment becomes noticeable." Matt glanced toward the Beginner Longsword secured behind the passenger seat. He completely missed the implication.

"Okay." He had forty-three Strength. His Passives boosted melee physical damage. He had Cleave. Heavy Strike. Blade Projection. How bad could it be? The guide moved on to Boss routing. Matt filed that section for later. Hours after leaving Ashfield, road signs finally began announcing Indiana. Then the state line appeared. WELCOME TO INDIANA Matt smiled.

"New state." The trailer crossed behind him.

"New Dungeon." That felt more significant than it probably should have. Matt had traveled before. Obviously. But this was the first time he had packed up his temporary home specifically because another Dungeon looked more interesting. Dungeon Drifter. The phrase was starting to become literal. ◆ Ironvale Works Delver Camp appeared late in the afternoon. The GPS took Matt off the interstate and through a town that seemed to derive a substantial fraction of its economy from the nearby Dungeon. Equipment stores.

Mana Stone buyers. RV repair. Truck service. Dungeon medicine. Weapon shops. One building advertised: CONSTRUCT DAMAGE INSPECTION — SAME DAY Matt frowned.

"That sounds very specific." Then the Camp appeared. He slowed.

"… That's a lot of metal." Ashfield had been gravel, trees, picnic tables, and trailers. Ironvale was pavement and steel. The Camp occupied an old industrial complex surrounding the Dungeon. Some structures were clearly modern; others had been renovated from enormous warehouses. The central market sat beneath a roof large enough to contain dozens of vendors. Heavy pickups mixed with RVs and work vans carrying company logos. A flatbed rolled past with neatly strapped metal equipment Bases.

Beyond everything, the Dungeon Gate glowed inside the skeletal frame of an old factory building. Matt pulled into the Camp Office lane. The receptionist processed his weekly site.

"First time at Ironvale?"

"Yeah."

"First Construct-heavy Dungeon?"

"Dedicated one, yeah." The man handed back Matt's ID.

"You'll notice the difference. They don't bleed, and most of them take more punishment than Ashfield wildlife." Matt smiled faintly.

"I just came from Ashfield."

"Then tomorrow you'll understand exactly what I mean."

"That sounded threatening."

"Informational." Matt accepted the site pass. ◆ Ironvale's campground was less scenic than Ashfield. Much more practical. Wide paved roads. Large trailer pads. Heavy electrical hookups. Easy turning radius. Clear lane markings. Matt approved immediately. He backed the trailer into his assigned pad on the second attempt.

"That counts." Unhitch. Level. Power. Water. Stabilizers. The process felt increasingly automatic. Once everything was connected, Matt went exploring. Marketplace first. Weapon vendors. Armor. Mana Stone buyers. Metal-material dealers. Crafting Currency. Skill Gems. Then a section selling nothing but clean equipment Bases. Rows of white items. Matt slowed. A week ago, he would have wondered why anyone had rented retail floor space to sell garbage. Now? He understood. Dangerous. He kept walking.

Then found the reason Ironvale had beaten several other destinations. IRONVALE CRAFTER ROW The warehouse had already closed normal walk-in operations for the evening, but the external schedule remained active. AVAILABLE SPECIALIZATIONS Life Resistance Weapon Damage Attack Speed Armor Attributes Utility Matt's eyes stopped on Attack Speed.

"There you are." Tomorrow's schedule showed availability. Good. Weapon Damage looked more interesting now too. Still, today had already included packing, several hours of towing, relocating his entire home, and learning a new Camp. Matt wanted to see the Dungeon before optimizing around it. Recon first. Optimization afterward. Disturbingly mature. Matt returned to the trailer, changed into combat Gear, packed his old defensive Boots into the equipment bag, and kept the Windrunners on. Then he headed for the Gate.

◆ The terminal showed multiple Instances. Matt chose one with the Boss already defeated. Instance 84 — 38/64 — Boss Defeated Perfect. No race. No Boss competition. No reason to rush. He stepped through. The change hit immediately. Ashfield had smelled like warm grass, burnt wood, and fruit. Ironvale smelled like hot steel, oil, ozone, and something electrical. Then came the sound. CLANG. HISS. THUNK. Matt stopped.

The Dungeon stretched around him like a factory created by something that understood machinery but had never met a safety inspector. He stood on broad metal grating. Conveyor belts crossed the enormous hall at different heights, some carrying sealed crates and others transporting rough metal chunks. Steel beams vanished into darkness overhead. Orange warning lights rotated along the walls.

Steam burst from vents, chains hung from crane rails, and somewhere deep inside the Dungeon a machine repeatedly struck something massive. THUNK. THUNK. THUNK. Matt stared.

"…I quit this." He had never worked in a steel mill, but there was enough freight infrastructure, material-handling equipment, and industrial routing signage to activate his former logistics brain. A conveyor ran beside him. Crates moved along it. Matt followed the route with his eyes. Frowned.

"That routing makes no sense." The belt crossed another line. Then doubled back.

"Why would you move inbound material past the processing station before—" Matt stopped himself.

"No." He pointed at his own chest.

"Do not optimize the murder factory." Metal scraped ahead. Matt drew his sword. Something dropped from an overhead pipe. Four legs. Steel plates. Hydraulic joints. Exposed gears. A head vaguely shaped like a dog, assuming the designer believed teeth were the defining characteristic. Yellow Mana light glowed in its eyes. SCRAP HOUND Matt sighed.

"There are the dogs." The Hound charged in a straight aggressive line. Matt met it with a basic attack. CLANG. The sword struck shoulder plating and threw sparks. The Construct staggered. Still active. Matt attacked again. A front leg buckled, but the yellow lights remained on.

"Okay." The Hound snapped at him. Matt pulled his arm clear and finished it with a third swing. The Construct collapsed and dissolved into Mana, leaving a Mana Stone and metal material behind. Matt looked at the old Beginner Longsword. Three direct attacks. Ash Rabbits had needed one. Cinder Crows were fragile. Briar Husks were tougher, but manageable. Ironvale had announced its theme immediately. Durability. Matt collected the loot and continued. ◆ The second Scrap Hound appeared several minutes later.

Matt used Cleave instead of repeating the basic-attack experiment. The red arc hammered the machine and shoved it sideways. Still active. A second Cleave broke it apart. The Hound had managed one bite before dying. Evasion failed, metal jaws closed against Matt's armored forearm, and his defensive layers handled the result without much trouble. Life dropped modestly. Regeneration immediately began returning it. Matt checked the number.

"Defense is fine." Ironvale was not punching through his rebuilt Gear. If there was a problem, it was somewhere else. The next Construct made the point more clearly. It was bipedal, with two thick metal legs, a compact torso, and enormous piston-driven arms. PRESS WALKER Matt looked up.

"That's not ominous." The Walker swung slowly but with enough force that Matt had no interest in testing his Armor directly. He moved sideways. The Windrunner Boots made the repositioning subtly cleaner. Matt stepped into range and used Heavy Strike. BOOM. The blow folded part of the Walker's chest plating inward. The yellow lights remained on.

"Two, then." Matt moved around the next piston swing and landed a second Heavy Strike. The Construct collapsed. Durable. Exactly as advertised. ◆ A maintenance chamber introduced Ironvale's first flying enemy. A compact metal shape detached from the rafters, resembling a mechanical spider with a small rotor assembly and a short barrel beneath its body. RIVET DRONE It fired. Matt moved right. A metal projectile struck the floor behind him.

"Ranged." Blade Projection crossed the room and hit the Drone. It spun violently, dropped several feet, recovered, and kept flying. Matt stared.

"…Come on." A second projection destroyed it. Every enemy so far required more work than its closest Ashfield equivalent. Not dangerous. Just slower. The first real problem arrived in a conveyor hall. Three Scrap Hounds and two Rivet Drones spotted Matt almost simultaneously. He activated Quick Frame and met the ground pack first. Cleave struck all three Hounds. All three remained active.

"… Oh." The Hounds swarmed. One attack triggered Evasion. Another connected and was softened by Armor. Matt gave ground and used Cleave again, destroying two Hounds before finishing the third with a basic swing. That delay gave the Drones time to fire. One rivet missed. Another struck his shoulder. Not dangerous. But pressure. Blade Projection hit the first Drone. Still alive. A second projection finished it. Two more attacks handled the other. Silence returned. Matt checked his Life. Fine. Already recovering.

Then Mana. Much lower than he expected from one ordinary pack. He frowned.

"That is new." Matt took a measured pull from a Mana Flask while he thought through what had happened. The problem wasn't merely that Ironvale monsters took longer to die. They required more actions. One Cleave had become two. One Blade Projection had become two. One Heavy Strike had become two. More Skill activations meant more Mana. Longer fights gave enemies more opportunities to attack. Sustained pressure degraded Evasion. More attacks eventually connected.

That created more work for Armor, Life, and regeneration. Matt slowly nodded.

"There it is." Offense and defense weren't separate systems. If monsters remained alive longer, they kept trying to hurt him. His rebuilt defenses gave him enough margin to tolerate that. But poor kill speed was spending the margin. Matt looked at the Beginner Longsword. Maybe. Ironvale was supposed to be durable. One variable at a time. He kept moving. ◆ A white sword drop made the weapon question harder to ignore. Another Press Walker went down after two Heavy Strikes. Loot appeared. Mana Stone. Metal material.

Sword. White. Matt almost kept walking. Then the Windrunner lesson intervened. Check the Base. He crouched. FOUNDRY LONGSWORD Rarity: Normal Required Level: 9 Physical Damage: 6–14 Implicit: Accuracy Rating +45 Matt stared.

"…Oh." He identified the Beginner Longsword in his hand. BEGINNER LONGSWORD Required Level: 1 Physical Damage: 4–9 Six to fourteen. Four to nine. Same general weapon class. Level requirement met. No incompatibility with his Skills. No existing modifier on the Beginner sword that justified keeping it equipped. Matt looked between them.

"Right." He swapped weapons. The clean Foundry Longsword immediately became his active sword. There was no reason to postpone a free Base upgrade while waiting to understand advanced weapon Crafting. Spending Currency on it could wait. Using the obviously better sword could not. Matt secured the Beginner Longsword through the weapon loops on his loot bag.

"Guide before Crafting." That was the actual rule. Not refuse obvious upgrades until homework is complete. The next Scrap Hound provided a convenient test. It charged. Matt stepped into the line and swung the Foundry Longsword. CLANG. The hit bit noticeably deeper into the plating. The Hound staggered. Second basic attack. CRUNCH. Dead. Matt stared at the fading Construct. Two attacks. Not three.

"Better." Very obviously better. Also not miraculous. Ironvale was still Ironvale. The Dungeon genuinely had tougher enemies. Matt had also been dragging a Level One sword into Level Nine content. Both things could be true. ◆ The next monster confirmed his defenses were still comfortably ahead of the problem. A spider-like Construct crawled around a wall on long articulated arms, its welding apparatus glowing blue-white. ARC WELDER"Oh." A Lightning beam swept across the corridor. Matt moved.

The beam tracked him, but the Windrunners helped him stay ahead of the line until it grazed his side during a direction change. Lightning Resistance kept the result comfortably manageable. Not harmless. Not irrelevant. Manageable.

"Good." Matt closed distance and used Heavy Strike with the Foundry Longsword. The Arc Welder rocked backward. Still active. Matt followed with a normal attack. Dead. He looked at the new sword.

"Definitely better." Then at the fallen Construct.

"Still tanky." Problem clarified. ◆ Matt stayed inside Ironvale for another forty minutes. No Boss. No deep push. Recon. He fought Scrap Hounds, Press Walkers, Rivet Drones, and Arc Welders while learning the early layout: which floor markings preceded moving machinery, where steam vents triggered, how high Drones preferred to hover, and how aggressively Hounds committed to a charge. The Foundry Longsword improved kill times immediately. It did not erase Ironvale's higher durability. That distinction mattered.

Matt thought briefly about Overmuscle. Another twenty Strength would obviously improve his physical output. Useful. But spending one of only two active COPY slots to compensate for an uncrafted weapon was not the first answer he wanted. The real problem was simpler. One neglected equipment slot had fallen behind the rest of his build. His defense had been rebuilt. His movement had improved. His Skill toolkit had expanded. His weapon had barely moved since Black Hollow.

"That's fixable." Excellent. Problems with shopping and Crafting solutions were Matt's preferred kind of problems. He pulled a Portal Scroll. ◆ Ironvale Camp had shifted into evening when Matt returned. The real Indiana sky was orange. Normal orange. Not magically eternal orchard orange. Matt walked back through Camp. The Windrunner decision was already made. For routine content, eight percent Movement Speed was worth giving up twenty-four Life.

The old defensive Boots stayed in his equipment bag for situations where he wanted every possible point of survivability. Apparently he owned tactical footwear now. Ethan could never know. Matt passed Crafter Row. The exterior board glowed. WEAPON DAMAGE ATTACK SPEED Those categories looked considerably more interesting than they had before entering the Dungeon. Matt took one step toward the building. Then stopped.

"No." Tomorrow. He understood enough to know his weapon needed work. He did not yet understand enough to spend Currency intelligently. COPY costing nothing did not make ignorance useful.

"No impulse copying." Matt frowned.

"That sentence is also unhealthy." He continued toward the trailer. ◆ Dinner could wait. Laptop first. Matt placed both swords on the table. BEGINNER LONGSWORD Required Level: 1 Physical Damage: 4–9 FOUNDRY LONGSWORD Rarity: Normal Required Level: 9 Physical Damage: 6–14 Implicit: Accuracy Rating +45 The white Base was already decisively better in raw damage. And that was before Crafting. Matt opened the National Equipment Market and filtered for Level Nine one-handed sword Bases. The results appeared.

FOUNDRY LONGSWORD — Physical Damage: 6–14 — Accuracy Implicit IRON BROADSWORD — Physical Damage: 7–16 HEAVY BASTARD SWORD — Physical Damage: 8–18 Matt leaned closer.

"…There it is." The better Level Nine Bases weren't twenty times stronger than his Beginner sword. They didn't need to be. They started meaningfully higher. Then weapon modifiers went on top. Then Matt's Strength and Passives. Then Skill multipliers. The whole stack mattered. Matt picked up the Beginner Longsword.

"I outleveled you." In hindsight, the delay made sense. Black Hollow enemies had been extremely basic. Ash Rabbits were fragile. Cinder Crows were fragile. Briar Husks were tougher, but Heavy Strike, Strength, and Passive investment had hidden how far behind the underlying weapon had fallen. Ironvale changed the baseline. Its ordinary monsters had enough physical durability to expose the problem. Matt set the old sword back down.

"You were being carried." The sword did not object. He kept browsing. Two Level Nine sword Bases with similar damage ranges caught his attention. One offered heavier damage per hit at a slower attack rate. The other had slightly lower raw damage but attacked faster. Their displayed DPS was much closer than Matt expected. He stared.

"…Fantastic." Another build problem. Damage range. Attack Speed. DPS. Skill compatibility. Requirements. Affixes. Implicit modifiers. Boots had taught him that upgrades weren't always simple. Swords had decided to retaliate. Matt searched: beginner physical warrior weapon guide Several results appeared. Rook. Bastion. Other channels. The top relevant result came from BastionBuilds. BEGINNER WEAPONS: DPS IS NOT THE WHOLE STORY Matt stared at the title.

"Of course it isn't." Bookmark. Tomorrow. His brain had reached quota. His phone buzzed. Black Hollow Group. Matt decided somebody else should hear about the day. Matt: Indiana update Ethan: MURDER CORN? Matt: factory Ethan: MURDER FACTORY Close enough. Matt: enemies are harder Chloe: Harder how? Matt considered. They weren't really hurting him. Matt: not dangerous Matt: just not dying Silence. Then: Chloe: How old is your weapon? Matt froze. Slowly looked at the table. Beginner Longsword. Foundry Longsword. Phone.

Matt: rude Chloe: How old? Matt sighed. Matt: black hollow The typing indicator appeared. Stopped. Appeared again. Chloe: Matt. That punctuation was hostile. Chloe: You rebuilt six armor slots and kept the Level 1 sword until today? Matt: apparently Ethan: ACCOUNTANT FORGOT DAMAGE Matt: logistics Ethan: EVEN WORSE Matt rubbed his forehead. Chloe: Did you replace it? Matt: found a clean level 9 base Matt: 6–14 instead of 4–9 Chloe: Better? Matt: obviously Matt: ironvale is still tanky Immediate reply.

Chloe: Both things can be true. Matt nodded.

"Yes." Exactly. The Dungeon genuinely had tougher enemies. His weapon also needed work. Both variables mattered. Matt opened another spreadsheet tab and compared the rough hit counts from the first run. The pattern was obvious without cataloging every monster individually. Ironvale equivalents were taking roughly twice the work Matt had become accustomed to in Ashfield, even after the raw Base upgrade helped. His defense, mobility, Skills, and Passives had all progressed. The weapon slot was still catching up.

"Weapon day." Tomorrow. Absolutely. ◆ Matt opened Ironvale Crafter Row's site again. Weapon Damage. Attack Speed. Several specialist schedules. Some Rank information was public. Some wasn't. Matt's COPY ceiling remained C. He looked at the listings.

"Please be C." If the useful specialists were B or higher, he could still pay them. He simply couldn't add them to the Archive yet. If they were C? Different story. Matt wrote tomorrow's list. TOMORROW Read weapon guide Understand Base Damage Understand Attack Speed Understand weapon DPS Compare Level 9 Bases Visit Crafter Row Observe Weapon Crafting Skills Copy compatible C-rank Skills Replace embarrassing sword properly Matt reread the final line.

"Definitely." Several more Marketplace notifications from the morning batch had arrived while he was inside Ironvale. Matt checked the ledger once. Sales coming in. Fuel covered. Camp covered. The Crafting routine was doing what he wanted: quietly producing cash while he did something else. He did not need the exact number every hour. That way madness lay. Matt updated the ledger once. Closed it. Future Matt could worry about larger purchases. Current Matt had a sword problem.

Outside, Ironvale sounded nothing like Ashfield. Low machinery hum. Truck engines. Metal equipment moving through warehouses. The occasional clang from the market. Beyond the Camp, the Dungeon Gate glowed beneath old steel beams. New state. New Camp. New Dungeon. New problem. Matt looked at the clean Foundry Longsword beside his old weapon.

"White again." Apparently that lesson wasn't finished with him. His phone buzzed. Ethan: ACCOUNTANT FORGOT DAMAGE Matt muted the group chat. He placed the two swords side by side. Tomorrow, apparently, he was going weapon shopping.